Michael (The Mark) (The Airel Saga, Book 4: Part 7-8) Read Online Free PDF Page B

She squealed like a little girl. “Perhaps the boy we met the other night?”
    Uriel screwed up her face, trying to appear to be confused, but then turned away when her blushing cheeks betrayed her.
    “I knew it. You do fancy him. Admit it, Uriel, you dream of him, do you not?”
    “Santura, stop. He is a … a most fascinating young man, I will admit.”
    “Ha.”
    “And if you must know, I do think he is amazing.” She turned away and tried to busy herself with something, anything. “What I mean to say is that … is that he does have the most … the most captivating eyes.” Intense redness swelled into her cheeks and forehead, making her feel slightly ill.
    Santura shook her head like a sage old woman. “Ah … love.”
    “Santura. Stop …” she begged, but did not mean any of it. She rather adored everything about him, even Santura’s little tortures. All she could do was meditate upon his face, his features, his broad and very strong chest, his name. “Subedei …” she whispered the name and smiled wide.
    He was not of the city of Ke’elei, of course. He was from out beyond the red mountains, a traveling merchant, she guessed, perhaps some kind of nobility in his own right judging by the manner in which he carried himself, the quality of his robes, his headdress.
    She had met him in the market. She had been walking with Santura, looking back over one shoulder to try to fend off a hawking fishmonger, when she crashed quite literally into him.
    “Subedei …”
    He was so tall, so strong, so bronzed and handsome. His eyes were like the blade of the sword, and just as sharp. His frame lithe, supple, rippled with muscle, aglow with health and strength. Her imagination ran a bit wild thinking of him.
    She had walked right into his powerful chest, stumbling over both his feet and hers, and looked up into his face as if awakening from a dream, his strong arms around her. “Oh,” she had said stupidly, “I am so sorry.” She had dropped her purse, a little leather pouch of coins given as an allowance by her uncle for incidentals at the market. She glanced down at it in concern. The market was no place to go around dropping coins; anything could happen.
    “Let me,” he said as he reached down and picked it up, placing it safely into her open hands. They stood uncomfortably close for complete strangers, but neither of them made a move to separate for a long moment. Santura had been watching the whole thing unfold; her heavy breathing brought Uriel back around and she silenced Santura with a scolding glance.
    Uriel turned back to the young man. “Thank you,” she said.
    “Subedei,” he replied, and took her hand and kissed it, causing her to blush. This impetuous young man from parts unknown had the air of romantic adventure about him.
    She fell instantly and surrendered her name on the spot. “Uriel.”
    “It is a pleasure,” he had replied.
    Uriel sighed at the memory of it. It was such a shame that they had decided for the sake of propriety to keep moving on, she and Santura. But after all, it had been so embarrassing. It was really almost unbearable. She looked back in woeful regret. Would she ever see him again?
    Reality came crashing back in upon her with even greater force as her uncle burst into the room. He wasn’t ever one to come crashing or bursting into anything—he was so soft-spoken. She knew her reaction of shock was owing solely to her state. Love. Fantasies. Self-absorption. “Oh, hello, Uncle,” she said in greeting.
    “Greetings, my beloved niece, and her favored friend Santura.” He bowed to them. “Uriel, are you ready for your shadowing lessons today?”
    Her heart sank. All she truly wanted to do was to sit in daydreaming speculation about the mysterious Subedei, ponder over their wedding day feast, wonder at the power of his love, dream about the home they might build together. “Oh. Why, yes, Uncle. Yes, I am.”
    “Good,” he said. “Meet me in the training hut